My Escort
by Rob-My-Dream
Summary: A flip flop and re-imagining of my story The Escort. Bella wants to experience something she never has and goes to desperate measures to get it over with quickly and in privacy. Shy and unsure of herself, Edward wants to give her what she needs, but she continues to need more and so does he. Soon she is all he can think about and Bella feels the same, as lust consumes them. AH


**My Escort**

By RobMyDream

(This is a reimagining of The Escort. Thanks for reading. )

"So what brings you here, Bella?" his whisper breathes across his full lips.

My eyes rise to his questioning gray stare; he is seated on an elegant white sofa, in a black tuxedo, crisp white shirt, and shiny patent leather shoes. I look beyond his face to the drapes behind him, a blueberry velvet that cascades to the black carpeted floor. His hair is perfectly styled, parted on the right, with a wavy trail of brown at his temples, and neckline.

He eyes me from floor to ceiling, a purse of his lips appears and disappears quickly. He sits as I still stand, uncomfortably frumpy, glasses askew on my face, a genetic predisposition for uneven ears giving them a tilted look.

_Why am I here?_

I am lost in thought, gripping my long skirt in my hands as it dances across the tops of my feet where brown penny loafers adorn my feet, a penny shining atop each shoe reflects the low light of the stylish globe behind his head; like a moon against the sky of the blue velvet curtain, suspended from the ceiling by a silver chain link.

"Ahem," I cough uncomfortably making my ponytail sway against the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine to my tailbone. He waits patiently for me, his stare doesn't give anything away. A slight smile or something undecipherable lifts the corners of his lips so subtle, I am lost in the sight of it, wondering if it is indeed mirth or simply a nervous twitch. _Surely he isn't nervous._

The grip on my skirt is so tight in my balled fists that I feel I will take flight soon for the door. _What am I doing here? This isn't me._ What I wanted was to feel something, to have someone hold me, someone who would not judge me, someone who would pretend I was beautiful, desirable, passionate, and _normal_; a secret liaison between two people who would never see each other again. I wanted to experience _love_, but this won't be love. I don't know what _this _is.

I notice him staring at my balled fists, I'm still clenching my skirt so tight as if to punish it for its frilly existence on my pale, thin body. His sudden rise from the chair is like a wind taking my breath away, my eyes following him to his tall height at least a foot above my head. He walks toward me purposefully and stands with barely an inch in between our bodies, the palms of his hands skim across my strained knuckles. I feel dwarfed by the darkness of his shadow.

As I feel him lean forward I instinctively close my eyes, hoping for and dreading a kiss. My first. Instead, his cheek brushes mine with barely there stubble, a warmth of rushing blood paints my cheeks, I know, because I've felt like this before-in my dreams, whereby I wake in a puddle of sweat and longing. A mirror at the corner of my room displays a blushed face, messy hair and heaved breaths as my shoulders rise and fall.

Even though I realize a kiss on my mouth is not his intention his hovering breath in my ear synchronizes with the cupping of my hands, whereby his fingers gently pry mine from the tortured, green cotton skirt.

"Relax," he whispers in my ear and my fingers melt into a pile of flesh and delicate bones in the palms of his strong hands, which gently cradle mine. His mouth stays near my ear, as he pulls my hands coaxing me forward as he steps backward. My feet catch on the carpeting, not willing to comply and yet unable to assert its protesting of movement; regardless I stumble forward with his smooth, assured steps.

"Good girl," he taints my ears with soft chants and delicate commands. I still haven't opened my eyes until I feel him effortlessly lower my body to the sofa he sat on only moments earlier. "Do you have your questionnaire?" he asks and my eyes pop open to stare up at him, he smiles gently.

I swallow dry nothingness as I clear my throat and pull the brown purse from my shoulder and rifle through it to find the rumpled questionnaire inside. I smooth it out against my thighs before handing it to him with trembling hands.

He takes it and glances quickly, his eyebrows furrowing and then excuses himself. "I'll be back in a moment, Bella."

I watch him walk effortlessly and with the grace of a dancer to a door to my left, its carved dark-wood door revealing a pale blue bathroom. He closes the door without looking at me. I am desperate to run now. _What he must think of me?_

As I wait for him barely containing my need to flee, I stick my hand in my purse pulling out a pack of little green and blue pills in a circle on a foil package, I note the days making sure I haven't forgotten to take it today. I haven't. I never needed them before, I probably don't now, but I am a smart woman even if I am too shy to assert what I want. _What I need._

He is so handsome, and I hadn't expected that; so clean, so refined, so at ease. I can't imagine him wanting someone like me and yet I know, this is his job. Maybe he thinks of someone else when he is confronted with someone unattractive, desperate, and scared.

As I wait for him I stare at the lush black carpet at my feet, there are imprints from his shoes and mine. A tango of depressions, as mixed up as my feelings. When he finally opens the door the breath I have been holding onto rushes into the air. He is still skimming the paper I gave him listing a short bio and a list of my wants, needs, and other non-romantic statistics.

He's changed; his tuxedo jacket and bow tie are missing, his white shirt unbuttoned at the top showing dark chest hair. His shoes still shine from the floor, the light catching from the tears that threaten to fall from my eyes. I reel it back but just barely, before my lip can tremble. _Is he going to send me away?_

"Do you want me to leave?" I blurt out and stand up, tugging my purse back onto my shoulder. As I reach the door handle, the cold metal against my hot, perspiring hand; his heat envelopes my backside. He presses me slowly against the door, my back to his front, my front against the inches standing between me and freedom. I'm disappointed to note he is not aroused as he presses against me firmly, my cheek resting against the door.

Out of the corner of my eye the questionnaire falls to the floor and the same hand floats around mine and pulls it from the door handle, placing it and my other hand against the door on either side of my head. My heart is pounding against my chest.

"Please, touch me," I say but not meaning for it to float on the air between us. My thought transform on my lips and he hears it, his breath catching slightly.

"I will, be patient," his lips touch my ear in a delicate, barely there kiss. I would melt to the floor but he holds me against it by his pelvis alone. His fingers pull together to loosen the tight band of my ponytail, his fingers raking through the long strands as my hair is set free against my shoulders. Tingles make the skin on my head crawl with electricity, my eyes roll closed as his fingers travel to my shoulders gripping my sweater as he glides it down my back and tosses it aside to join the paper with all my closely guarded secrets. He is unraveling the most guarded secret of all, a part of myself never shown to anyone.

"Are you scared for tonight?" he asks, and I am almost insulted. I may not know the pleasures between a man and a women myself, but I know what it is to want. To need. I've read books and watched videos, out of curiosity, I've taken care of myself. It was never enough. I was never brave enough, I let time go and ignored my yearnings. I was always so busy, doing what? Hiding. I finally nod. _Yes, I am scared._

"I like a challenge." I feel his smile as he barriers his face in the hair at my neck.

"I don't want to be a challenge," I whisper against the door, my tears once again invading the lip of my lower lid. I'm sure he means that it would take wild horses for him to want me. That the challenge is his wanting me. I am a melting in a puddle of want and fear, the challenge isn't me_. I don't think._

"Wake up, Bella." His whisper is heated against my neck as my hair is pulled aside, a tongue tantalizes against the vertebrae there and my head slumps forward, my forehead painfully rocking against the door. Brave fingers rest on my bear arms and glide to the front of my flat stomach. It takes me a few lung filled breaths to realize he is opening each button of my matching top and the air outside cooler than my skin is nice in contrast. A shaky breath leaves my mouth.

"Wake up, Bella."

I'm confused as my eyes open, his arms are no longer at my stomach, I feel compelled to close the gap in my opened shirt, my shoulders shrugging forward as if he can already see me naked and lacking.

"I'm awake," I blurt suddenly reassuring him that I'm here, though I am not sure I want to be.

"Wake up-here, Bella." His fingers ghost between my thighs subtly running a long finger from my center to my bellybutton. The bare skin of my abdomen tightens as his finger drops into the indented skin, he wiggles the tip and it sends a chill through me. Also, it tickles, though I don't laugh. Yet, I hear him giggle and kiss my shoulder.

"Turn around." It is only the second time this evening he's used his regular voice, though still low but un-whispered. It feels like a command and, I comply. His middle disconnects with mine so I can move. I stare down at his hands which have captured mine, his thumbs rubbing tender circles against my palms.

"Are you okay?" he asks, as I look up at him. No words come to my aid so I shrug. "You're very pretty, Bella. You should dress up, even if you don't feel it inside, others should see your light. "You're hiding."

"No. I'm not, this is me." I step back against the door, annoyed at him. He doesn't know me. He has no right to tell me what I should do, what others should see, and that-_I'm pretty?_ It isn't beautiful but it is still more than I expected. He grabs my waist and holds me against him firmly against his body, my feet lifting from the floor, my hands gripping his shoulders. He smiles as he carries my stiff body to the bathroom and turns me toward the mirror.

Behind me we stare at our reflection, he licks his lips and his arms steady me on either side as he traps me with his hands on either side of the stand-alone sink. I look down watching the tendons on his wrist strain as he holds me steadily.

"Look at yourself, Bella. Look into the mirror." I try to speak up, I try to tell him we should just turn the lights off and get this over with. I don't need the seduction. I've been wound up for years. I could add that it will most likely be quick for me, and painless for him due to this fact. I just want this stigma over with, this blatant statement that I fail as a women because at thirty-six, I have still never slept with a man.

Maybe my friends will stop asking me to date, to be assertive, and to go for what I want. I know what I want, and I know I will never have it. This, after long nights and days of contemplation is all I have. And that is fine with me. It really is. The courage it took to decide to seek out an escort was very difficult for me. I'm here now, I just want my virginity to disappear, and it doesn't even have to be special, just complete. Like tasks on a list of things to do, so I won't blush when someone asks me. I can always pretend with the rest, tell a story of a great love I'd never get over, but to be truthful to my heart, I want this moment to start and my fear to end.

He removes my glasses and it reminds me of books I've read and movies, where the confident, attractive man brings the shy, awkward woman out of her shell. The sad part is it isn't so far from the truth, and it is hazy how I became this person. The one who constantly tells her co-workers and friends that dating and sex isn't a big deal. That it isn't a matter of me pushing away my shyness, it is a choice I make.

When I peer back into the mirror, we don't make sense anymore, and I giggle unabashedly. His and my fuzzy faces void of expression in the mirror before me.

"I can't see without them," I admit to him, and he plants a kiss on my shoulder, his chin rests there still staring at the reflection before us. I get the impression he isn't laughing and doesn't find this funny.

"Good. Maybe you'll stop judging your appearance."

"What?" I spin to face him, our closeness bringing his features back into focus. "Me? You're the one telling me what I should wear."

"You can wear what you want but stop hiding. Stop acting like you deserve to be tucked away in a corner of a library behind pages and pages of books." I wish what he'd just said weren't so true.

"Look. I'm paying you to fuck me. That's all. You know I'm inexperienced, you know I'm not young and in case you don't know, _not_ naïve. I just want this to happen, and then I'll go and you can forget me. I'm ready-now." I challenge him with a jutted chin of what I hope looks like confidence.

I pull my glasses from his hand and place them back on. He looks at me solemnly, and places a finger against my cheek.

"What?" I nearly raise my voice.

"You're right. You paid. I'm just here to do what you wish. Come with me." He leaves the bathroom and walks to the beautiful four-poster bed that I'd avoided looking at when I came into the room. A gray-silk down-goose comforter has been pulled down and he sits removing his watch from his wrist as I stand in the middle of the room watching him.

A phone next to the bed rings, and he answers it while kicking off his shiny shoes and removing his socks. I focus on the conversation and his physical actions which have gone from seductive to rushed and impatient.

"Get undressed," he whispers and he tells the person on the phone to cancel his next appointment, he won't be finished in time.

This too jars me and any bit of arousal I felt before, which I did, is now staved, and I fear I've asked for something I didn't mean to. I don't want indifference. I also don't want to think of myself as just one of his appointments. How many women has he bedded here? How does he do it? Does he have a wife or girlfriend? Has he ever? Have I made him upset?

This does it, and the tears fall down my cheeks silently as he continues undoing his buttons and sliding his pants down his legs, all the while unaware I am breaking into pieces in front of him. Before he can see me I grab my purse and sweater and break for the door. But before I get there he is back behind me, pulling me away.

"I'm sorry, Bella," he says into the top of my head before gently pressing his lips to the crown. "I'm sorry. I don't want to ruin this for you. Tell me what you want?" As I turn he sees my reddened face and silent stream of tears. He lifts his head in worry and places my head in the crook of his neck. My nose is filled with his scent, not even a trace of a fragrance other than his own. It is amazing and enticing, I could stay here forever.

His hands are all over my back, soothing me, and tenderly kneading the flesh softly.

"I don't mean to be difficult," I look up at him and he stares down at me smiling.

"You aren't, Bella. This is my job, but it doesn't mean I don't care about your needs. I'm trying to do what you want, but don't you want your first time to be more than just a brief grunt and tug under the covers, especially with someone you don't know?"

He's right. I did want more but then I realized how stupid it was the minute I walked in the door. He is a hired escort, he doesn't actually want me. He is playing a role because I paid him to.

I don't know whether to stay and let him take the lead again, or go and never feel this way with anyone else the way it feels being near him, seduced by him, warmed and wanted, even if it is only his job.

As his arms encircle me and tighten into a hug, I become limp in his arms.

"Come," he whispers and sets me on the bed. He kneels before me in black boxer shorts and shrugs of his shirt. His toned and muscled body force me to take a sharp breath. He is nearly naked before me, and I can't breathe.

I start to unbutton my shirt, when he stops me. Spreading my legs apart he scoots between my thighs pulling my skirt above my knees, our eyes locked together, unblinking. I can't focus on what he is doing with my eyes, or surely I will leave. I don't want to leave him.

He begins to finish what I started, opening one button at a time, still staring. I am limp before him, and his muscles work harder than they should as they part the materiel until each side rests against a breast. I watch his defined shoulders now, the muscles twitch and pull, and then the rise and fall of his breaths.

I've given him the keys now, there is no turning back. This right now feels-okay. I can't ask for more or less. I will let him lead me down this new path. He seems afraid to look away from my eyes but then as he licks his lower lip, his eyes dart to my chest causing me to turn my head away, as if I don't see it, it isn't happening. I don't want to appear so green, but I must face that I am in so many ways.

Air breezes past my nipples as he turns the cups down, they hold my breasts, pushing them up more. His lips brush my right nipple before it is eagerly taken by his lips. Firm pressure wreaking havoc on my oversensitive, untouched skin. My nerves are so thrilled by the feeling of another's touch, not my own, taking control. His lips hold the firm nub, while his tongue dances at its peak, I literally make a shuddering sound with my mouth, my eyes closing out the surrounding light, and my last vision is of his soft brown hair and my fingers gliding through it.

Pressing gently against my shoulders he lays me back, and before I can even imagine what he'll do next, his nose grazes the panties between my legs, a deep inhale can be heard, and my cheeks alight with embarrassment and deep arousal. I try to sit up to stop him, to get a breath, to do something but he shakes his head and urges me back, then he asks me to scoot up to the pillow and relaxes my length along the soft bed. I've never felt this soft, and pliable before.

"I want you so much, Bella." His words twist my stomach, and I try not to remind myself this is just a play of seduction. Then a thought hits me, and though I try to ignore it, I can't. I open my eyes to find him straddling my right leg and hovering closer to my lips. I place a hand on his chest to stop him.

"Sorry. I'm fine, just, what is your name?"

He smiles at me and begins to kiss me, but I really want to know so I turn my head. He persuades my chin back into his line of sight with a gentle hand. "Edward."

"Nice to meet you, Edward." With this his lips sinking against my own, the heel of his left hand begins kneading the flesh below my pubic bone, and a spike of pleasure shoots through me tiny at first and then building. I can't focus on it because his lips and tongue are dancing against mine, a bite or two here and there for good measure. I am nearly putty in his capable hands. _It's going to happen, and it is going to be good._ I think to myself with delight.

As he begins tugging at my underwear and he breaks off our heated kiss to concentrate on the task, I notice his tented boxer shorts. I shake my head before he starts lowering my underwear and point to the light beside us. "Please, turn it off."

His eyebrows rise in wonder but he turns off the light, and I feel a cool, gentle breeze has he pulls my panties off completely and blows gently on the sensitive skin. His hand lays against my stomach no doubt feeling the way my breathing is labored. _This is it._

His knee fits into the hollow between my thighs and meets with warm, wet skin. The feeling is incredible where hard meets soft. Unhooking the front of my bra, he devours each breast with reverence, sucking and licking. My brain is no longer connected to my reasoning, I am all about touch and friction. I want this man so much. His leg gently slides against my wanting sex, and it pulses with need. "More?" I nearly shout, as he tugs one nipple hard and lets it go.

"What do you want, Bella? Tell me. Do you want me inside of you?" I do, but I don't want to admit it, I want some semblance of control back, even if it is just me not voicing it in the air around us. I grind impatiently against his thigh, and he presses in harder so I can get the friction I need. No longer kissing or groping me, he becomes like steel against my softness.

I can't stop pulsing against his thigh and soon stars show under my eyelids and pleasure ripples throughout my being. I hear myself cry out unashamed, and tense more as I grip onto the sheets for all I am. As I try to control my breathing I hear him grunt and finally warm spurts release and splash against my stomach and my chin. My eyes open wide to the darkness, without thinking I reach over and turn on the light to find he has dismounted the bed and his shaking himself over a garbage can then wiping himself off with a tissue which he tosses in before placing the can down on the floor next to the bed. His erection still twitches as it loses its thickness and stiffness.

He sits next to me smiling as he takes a warm washcloth from wherever it was before, and gently washing my stomach, chuckling as he wipes my chin.

I sit up and pull my shirt over me as much as possible and look down in shame. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

"No. No, it is fine. There was nothing wrong with that. Do you feel good?" He asks patting my hand. I look up into his gorgeous eyes and nod.

"Edward?" He looks over as he continues to pull his boxers back over his fine derriere. He nods waiting for me to continue.

"Is that it? We aren't going to…"

He leans near me and kisses my pouted lips. "Not tonight, that was a good start but we have ran way over our time and it is your first time. I want us to not have to hurry for that part, you can come back, no extra charge."

"I'll pay you more, I want to…I want to finish."

"Is there a rush?" he asks.

I shake my head and he continues to stare at me in concern.

"I guess not." I begin to scoot off the bed but he dips and his face moves between my legs, his tongue licking a long line up my center that makes my bottom scoot up off the bed before falling back against the rich, soft pillows.

A bite, a tug, a lick, sucking, kissing and parting my folds and soon I am soaring again, head grinding against the pillows. I am flying and there is not one to catch me. Coming up for air he smiles like the cat that got the canary, the sight of his happy face between my leg.

"Mmm Mmm," he looks as though he's had the best meal of his life. A starving man on the brink of contentment. "I love pussy," he adds, laughing as my cheeks heat up to what I am sure amounts to the color of deep red. I cover my smiling face as he walks naked to the bathroom and shuts the door.

"Oh, shit," the words come unbidden from my lips. "So this is what I've been missing?"


End file.
